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16 pages, Audiobook
First published January 1, 1990
He tried to pull away, and then suddenly his grip tightened on her hands. He lifted them to his mouth. "Ah God, you are. . . you are. . . and what can I give you in return?"And so, in the end, when it was all said and done and I was listening to those final words of the story, I knew it was right. I knew that even though their happily ever after was hard fought, it was so, so well deserved, and that made it right.
"Give me your joy, Seigneur." She pressed her forehead against their clasped hands. "Oh, give me your joy. I can go on alone if I must. I'll endure, oh yes—I'm too strong to break. And I'll grow old and turn into stone if you leave me. I'll never look up and see you play with the wolf; I'll never hear you call me sweet names in French; I'll never learn to beat you at chess." She shook her head violently. "Please. . . dance with me. Take me to Italy. Paint me in the ruins at midnight. Give me all your mad notions and your crazy heroics and your impossible romantical follies. And I'll be your anchor. I'll be your balance. I'll be your family. I won't let you fall."
His hands opened. He slipped his fingers over her cheeks, cupping her face between his palms.
She felt hot tears fill her eyes. "I'm so weary of grief and hate." She bent her head and stepped away, looking up into his face. "I want a chance to give you the best of myself, too."
Far off beyond the lake, a crane made its warbling whoop, exotic and startling against the background of the harpsichord. He lifted his hand, touched her cheek, caught the single tear that tumbled down it.
She bit her lip. The tears came, impossible to stop. "I love you," she said in a cracked voice. "The truth is, Monseigneur. . . I need you more than you need me."
He was silent, his hand against her skin, warm against the night air.
"Don't let that happen to me." Her words shook. "Don't leave me to be what I'll become without you."






